


the precarious domesticity of i. gallagher and m. milkovich

by boolam



Series: the precarious domesticity of i. gallagher and m. milkovich [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bipolar Disorder, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Episode Related, Episode s01e03, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, Kissing It Better, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Mickey Milkovich has a Great Ass, Naked Cuddling, Public Display of Affection, Riding, Rimming, Romantic Gestures, Top Ian Gallagher, Unsafe Sex, and projecting fantasies of heavenly slumber onto mickey milkovich, but its only used as a callback to the grafitti, love and ass munching my favourite combination, mickey's legs centric, the usual, they ride bikes and have a good but dysfunctional time, unsafe sex under the guise of showing you care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boolam/pseuds/boolam
Summary: “Y-you’re bouncing off the fucking walls; I can’t keep up.” Ian’s determination softened and he slunked into the crook of Mickey’s neck, laying gentle, slower kisses to the pale skin.“Yeah...yeah, I’ll slow down. We’ll take it slow.” An uncharacteristically soft hand got Ian's jaw, pulling it up to establish what Mickey usually avoided in deeper moments: eye contact.“Do you want to?”“I just want you.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: the precarious domesticity of i. gallagher and m. milkovich [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565677
Comments: 4
Kudos: 149





	the precarious domesticity of i. gallagher and m. milkovich

“For someone who goes down with a gust of wind you sure can keep your balance,” Ian let out in a monotone breath, already fighting hard to keep the grin down when he caught the incredulous expression Mickey threw from his bike.   
  
“Excuse me? You think the queerbo roughhousing we got going on count as  _ fights?  _ Better not be provoking my fists, Gallagher, gonna get the beat down of a lifetime.” failing to mention the spats they’ve shared before had less to do with his pride (considering he did usually come out on top) and more to do with them still a bit fresh from an old one, blood still clotted over good scratches and muscles sore from cheap shots. Let it be stated that this one was not a pissy love quarrel turned sex, but them actually turning their fists to someone else for a change. Might be Mickey finding difficulty in coming up with ways to fight for Ian, now that The Fairy Tail is off Ian’s plate and he can’t pulp late age queens trying to cop a feel, not many of those when they finally catch on which cock they should keep their pruned hands away from. 

Still, Mickey being trigger happy wasn’t great when the odds were evened out. One playful sing-song of the word  _ fags  _ and an invitation to come over, thrown to them by some trashier looking schmucks on the street; that got him going bad. 

Ian could only roll his eyes, changing the topic: “Where did you even learn that?”   
  
“Always a yuppie family wanting to buy their baby boy or some shit a new pipe with wheels. Me or Mandy sell, me or the boys steal back - circle of life shit.” Ian had to stare while Mickey, shoulders squared back and not a hand on the wheel, lit a cigarette while he spoke. “Eyes on the road, Gallagher.” 

“Always wanted an explanation for the legs.”   
  
“An explanation? Isn’t everyone who takes it up the ass just gifted with that shit or something?” Ian had to smile at that level of idiocy. It was the middle of the night, the street was empty, but he was still grinning like an idiot at Mickey so much as hinting at what they do together. He never really wanted Mickey to be screaming it to the heavens (as much as he can imagine the angst-filled sight being amusing), but fuck if it didn’t feel amazing to get fresh air outside the closet door. He waited for at least one hand to be on Mickey’s wheel before Ian put the pedal to the metal in getting ahead of him, drifting, the tire leaving skid marks against the asphalt as he cut Mickey off, the other’s brakes screeching less than a foot away from them colliding.    
  
“What the fuck, Ian?!” 

Ian’s bike was already thrown on its side and Mickey had half a second to take the fag out of his mouth before another latched onto it. 

First instinct was of course  _ fight _ , considering they were out in the open - in southside, no less - but that thought drowned as soon as Ian’s big fucking hand was cradling the back of his neck, brushing short hairs as he pulled Mickey suffocatingly close. Mickey was strong, but a man has to be a lot more than that to not melt like chocolate over a flame at something so unabashedly soft. You can’t fucking kick a puppy, man, Mickey couldn’t do that. What he could do, however, was sharply turn his wheel into Ian’s ribs when the bastard slipped tongue. 

“Ah! Fuck, aight - point taken,” Ian panted an inch away from soft lips, couldn’t help another peck to the chapped fuckers, offering up a sheepish smile before he pulled away completely, hand dramatically fussing over his side. 

“Yeah and next time I got a leg to fucking stand on you’re getting a knee to the balls.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth, puffing it instead of actually inhaling as he put his foot back on the pedal to take off again. After that little attack, he felt hypersensitive, to the one lock that's escaped his gelled back hair, to the breeze somehow biting him through his jacket. Fucking Gallagher.

“You wouldn’t,” Ian scoffed, following right behind Mickey once he almost apologetically picked his bike back up. It wasn’t that Mickey was especially faster on the bike, it’s just a preference to stay behind - better view.

“If it kept them away from me in public; yeah, I fuckin’ would.” 

* * *

“Where are we going?” 

They’ve been riding for around half an hour, tying up business with shitheads that tried to best the Rub ‘N’ Tug. Mickey said there weren’t any other shitlords needing to get their head lumped in, but Ian’s suspicions were surfacing when they passed The Alibi - he thought they were heading there to drop off some money Mickey collected from the ones that begged and offered compensation. Apparently not. 

“I got a bad idea, but you’re gonna fucking love it. You like stupid shit like this…” Ian was only more concerned with the tone Mickey used - all the confidence suddenly gone to the wind, the nervous energy wafting him with how small Mickey’s voice was. 

They turned a corner and drove down the sidewalk before Mickey suddenly stopped, his twitchiness finally getting the better of him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out lighter and cig. Looking at him Ian finally caught what they came for, his eyes suddenly drawn to the blue wall just on Mickey’s other side, not fresh with messy red letters. The wall wasn't as bare as Mickey remembers, various other tags and even some actual drawings surrounding the main event:

**IAN GALLAGHER IS A DEADMAN**

Ian once more ditched the bike, taking some steps back to get a better look. Mickey swears just looking at the face Ian’s pulling - this completely love-stricken, face splitting grin - is making him dizzy. 

“During the Mandy debacle?”   
  
“Yup.” Mickey threw puffing out the window, taking a deep toke to hopefully settle his wobbly voice. “Jaime and Tony were always trailing along back then, knuckleheads wanted to contribute more so I let Tony put the x on the i.”    
  
“Couldn’t reach yourself?”    
  
“Eat a dick, Gallagher.” Mickey paused and Ian knew he was about to get his ears chewed off by the tirade to come: “One fuckin’ second you’re ogling these puppies,” he motions to his legs, leaning back against the building, “like the second coming of christ or whatever and the next you’re shitting on them? Really? No wonder you had to almost get your head beat in to get some fucking tail.”

“Feeling nostalgic, huh?” Ian kept his smile when he made his way to Mickey, putting both hands on the wall by Mickey’s head to cage him in, getting a scowl and a face full of smoke for his troubles.   
  
“‘Bout how I used to think about the fact you were still fucking Kash-and-Grab and pruned up corporate assholes while you were doing me? Yeah, what a fucking confidence boost.” Mickey’s voice was back to that self-loathing little rumble and Ian had to frown.   
  
“Angie Zago sure made me feel special,” if Mickey was gonna go low blow, so would Ian. 

He wasn’t surprised to get shoved away, Mickey manically twitchy with nerves again, but staying quiet, glaring sharper than daggers as he smoked. Ian’s eyes flickered to the red letters behind Mickey again and he decided tonight he didn’t want the two of them to come out scathed - they’ve been doing pretty good lately. 

He took a moment to breathe, resisting the urge to pace as he wrung a nervous hand through his hair. When he felt the air had let up that he wasn’t under constant threat of being cussed at or worse, he approached again, hands sliding under the jacket Mickey wore to massage at his hips, slowly.

“That’s behind us. You know that…” 

Mickey kept his eyes downcast, trying to not let Gallagher’s voice in his ear undo every tense muscle in his being, ultimately failing. He was wound up, but he didn’t let his self-destructive bullshit delude him into not seeing that he and Ian were on the right path; Ian wouldn’t let him do that. He offered a curt nod, his skin blooming flush where Ian’s breath ghosted his neck. His head was swimming enough to forget how vulnerable they were, out in the open. 

Still, Mickey grew tired of the charged silence, promising but not giving. He smacked his palm to the wall a few times and pointed up;    
  
“You gonna keep breathing down my neck or fucking do something? Mind the sign, dipshit.”    
  
Ian was back to grinning when he looked to see what the sign said, kissing Mickey with a laugh just on the tip of his tongue, tickling Mickey pink and getting the other to grin into the kiss as well:   
  
** _NO LOITERING ON THIS PROPERTY_ **

* * *

  
Ian wasn’t a stranger to hyperbole, not someone new to blowing something out of proportion, but in this moment he’ll put his life to say that’s not what he’s doing. He’ll scream it to the heavens: ambrosia, forbidden fruit, all heavenly pleasures be damned! Nothing in this mortal realm or anything beyond compares to having Mikhailo Aleksandr “Mickey” Fucking Milkovich sit on your face! Non-hyperbolic in the least.

“Fuck- Gallagher this ain’t your last fucking meal,” Mickey, hunched over and thighs trembling, didn’t even know if he was the one worse off in the situation. He swore Ian was treating him as though he was the most important thing in the world, more important than fucking breathing. Being coerced into kneeling over Ian’s chest was bad enough, but to feel that stupid smile pressed against his ass non-stop was gonna drive him up a wall.    
  
“So what?” the breathless, faux innocent reply did nothing to help Mickey hold in a groan. A whole body tremble overtook him when the tongue was replaced with a single thumb, some fucking malicious form of teasing - not long enough. He was so far out, his hand was twitching to smack away the ginger’s other hand, as it adoringly ran up and down his thigh with occasional squeezes.

“So -  _ fuck  _ \- s-stop gobbling like your life depends on it, asshole” 

Mickey swears he could just see in Ian’s tone the way his eyebrows came together in mock confusion - “why?” 

“Cause I’m abouta fucking die with your mouth in my ass. W-what the fuck’s got you so juiced up?!” Mickey was grappling tight to keep from going over, focused on nothing but staying in control. Opening his eyes proved to be a counterproductive measure in him not exploding with frustration; there, before him, was Ian’s body -  _ fully fucking clothed.  _ Mickey’s earlier attempts at getting his paws down Gallagher’s pants proved to be a bust, the ginger knocking his hands away again and again:  _ “If you touch me I’ll lose focus.”  _ Mickey would have listened to shit all Ian had to say if he knew that focus was all put into flipping his skin inside out.

Ian working more fingers into him is what got him to lay down across Ian’s chest, thighs on the brink of giving out - he was nothing if not an amazing boyfriend, so suffocating Gallagher wasn’t on his plate tonight. He wasted no second in undoing Ian’s jeans despite the halfhearted protests: 

“Mick…” it was a rumbled little sigh more than any solid complaint, directly contradicted by the hand that's moved from his thigh to entangle in black locks. Mickey could only fucking smile - giving him what he wants for all of a few minutes and only  _ then  _ shoving a hand down his pants is all it takes. 

“Weak will, Army.” Obviously some sort of trigger. When he was inches away from occupying his mouth, he was flipped on his back, Ian jumping to hover above him. Face to face for the first time in a short while they were weak men giving in to the urge to suck the life out of the other orally. It was a bit fucked thinking where that mouth’s been but instead of intensifying those thoughts instead dissipated when the kiss turned french. Mickey groaned, whole body vibrating as his hands shook, tracing down mouthwatering muscles to plunge his nails into the meat of Ian’s ass, pulling him flush. 

“Fuck me, Ian,” Mickey panted. Ian looked down at him, both of them pink with heat and little breath.

“I love you.” 

Mickey stared, once again pushing a boulder uphill to keep from melting.  _ Ian Fucking Gallagher,  _ turning everything to mush. Ian didn’t even need to hear it back, breaking out smiling with the owlish heart eyes bearing down on him, courtesy of Mickey. He cupped Mickey’s face and took advantage of the second of weakness, peppering all bare skin of Mickey’s face with wet kisses, knowing he was about to be swatted away in just a second. It lasted a few seconds, before Mickey was fussing and flailing, shoving at Ian’s face to get him to drop the embarrassing display of affection. Ian liked to push his luck. He bore down an especially wet smooch on a flushed cheek before gently biting into the soft skin.

He bailed before he could get hit, sitting up to throw his shirt off and shimmy out of his pants. He went to recover the lube and condom from the nightstand, teeth sunken into the silver foil but not being quick enough to tear, suddenly stopped by a soothing hand on his bicep and a transition from smitten to concerned gracing Mickey’s face. Ian immediately knew what was gonna come out that mouth.

“Are you-” Mickey was cut off, suddenly pinned to the bed as stormy eyes stared down in a way that could crack bones. Before even having to hear what Ian has to say, he believed him. He was nothing if not a weak man.

"I’m on my meds. I’m not manic.”

“Y-you’re bouncing off the fucking walls; I can’t keep up.” Ian’s determination softened and he slunk into the crook of Mickey’s neck, laying gentle, slower kisses to the pale skin.

“Yeah...yeah, I’ll slow down. We’ll take it slow.” An uncharacteristically soft hand got Ian's jaw, pulling it up to establish what Mickey usually avoided in deeper moments: eye contact. 

“Do you want to?”

“I just want you.” 

Hardened hood rat Mickey Milkovich was having his bones ground into Jell-O for Ian Gallagher. Mickey swears he could feel the world suddenly stopping and beginning to spin the other way. 

“I fucking love you too.” He could have slapped Ian for that look. “Please for the love of  _ fuck  _ drop the puppy eyes and get in me.” 

Wishes went unmet as Mickey was once more suffocating in a mouthful of Ian. He stayed latched on just as tight, mouths barely splitting enough to gasp as Mickey shoved Ian onto his back, up against the wall. He sat square on the ginger’s abdomen to fully soak in the heat of the kiss, tilting his head to the side to lock perfectly, tongue swallowed down in a way that was driving him near explosion. He pulled away to hear Ian whine in loss, but Mickey bit at his lip and gently pulled before fully separating. As embarrassing as it would’ve been to cum right then and there, Ian knew he was right at the fucking edge of it.

Mickey reached for the lube, deftly shoving soaked fingers into himself just to get it on before he was gripping Ian with a lubed hand. Ian tried not to sound like god just kissed his forehead:

“No condom?” 

“I’m clean. You clean?”

Eager nod.

“I know you are. Come on, making love don’t need condoms; or whatever shit creeps say to knock up teenagers.”

“You’re the master of bedroom talk, you know that?” Ian laughed. Redirecting his rapid heartbeat off the prospect of  _ making love _ was a failed venture, but nerve jokes made him feel like  _ floating in _ instead of  _ drowning in _ adoration. Even with the lame jab, the sparkle in Ian’s eyes made it seem like praise. Mickey’s fallen for an idiot to love’s ploy.

Before time could stop again they were intertwined, Mickey setting the pace even as he felt overwhelmingly full of Ian. Always fucking suffocating, both of them. 

The room was drowned in radiating heat, broken moans on the tipping point of becoming tears. Ian wasn’t idle long, holding Mickey’s hips with a bruising grip as his hips moved of their own accord to match Mickey’s brain-numbing grind. It was slow, so deep they might come out the other end. Mickey’s eyes fell closed and he burrowed into Ian, hiding his red face in Ian’s neck.

He hissed when he was tugged away by a hand in his hair, arching against Ian just as the other wanted.

“You’re fucking amazing- let me look.” Mickey could only nod, knowing that the ticking time bomb in his gut has long since reduced him to babble, he couldn’t speak if he wanted to, a mantra of Ian’s name and helpless begging all it would come down to. Ian trailed delicate fingers down his chest, brushing a purple, yellowing bruise and pulling him back in to latch onto Mickey’s neck, intent on leaving a bruise that came from loving with love instead of fighting for love. Mickey gasped, hips stuttering as Ian sucked and bit at the crook of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, moving frantically in an attempt to bring Ian closer to him on the edge. Pale fingers twisted into orange hair, pushing and tugging as he plastered flush to Ian, letting out something embarrassingly akin to a sob when Ian’s hand wrapped around him, dropkicking him into the abyss as his vision dotted and his thighs gave a dying tremble. 

Ian would be praising him to hell and back at the strength Mickey showed in continuing to bounce. Mickey was close to crying with how hard he resisted face planting into Ian’s chest and passing out at that very instance, instead, he sloppily sucked Ian’s bottom lip between his teeth before he kissed him softly, hands limp as he cupped Ian’s face in both hands. Everything slowed tenfold even with Mickey’s efforts so Ian gently rolled them over, continuing to kiss Mickey as he gave a few more deep thrusts, punching strained moans out of Mickey that ended up pushing him to completion. Sighing Mickey’s name into his skin, he hugged him close, panting wet between kisses. Mickey was still dragging himself through consciousness, the hand on Ian’s ass giving a few appreciative slaps as he smirked at the look he got cause of the condescending gesture.

“I fuck you like you’re a princess and I get patted like a dog?” Ian laughed while Mickey frowned.

'I’m not a princess?” His tired tone, eyes half-lidded through the question got Ian grinning wildly again, slowly pulling away so he could fall on his side, pulling Mickey up to lie against Ian’s chest.

“Yeah, Sleeping Beauty, maybe.”

“Fuck off, Ian,” Mickey grumbled, already half out. Ian was stuck in a smiley trance, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to Mickey’s completely ruined mane. Mickey just barely registered it, lip quirking, “Love you, Gallagher…”   
  
“Fucking ditto,” Mickey could only snort at the lame response, fully relaxing when Ian tugged the sheets over them, allowing him to finally slip into peaceful sleep, Ian’s heart nervously battering against his ear. 

**Author's Note:**

> recently got back into the fandom so i might be writing more. suggestions are welcomed. if there are no suggestions just know that you're to blame when i end up writing a fic based on the "not gonna wear a dress" "you do have nice legs though" shit. be warned.


End file.
